


Waking Up Slow

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: Five years have passed since The Gig Harbor Killer attacked Finn and left her in a coma. Five years of recovery and a new lease on life for her and Nick. Here is how they celebrate.
Relationships: Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Waking Up Slow

Sleep. The purest moment of life when one is left to the devices of the mind. For Nick, sleep always had mixed feelings and emotions attached to it. When he woke up next to her though, his entire outlook changed. February fifteenth two thousand twenty was no exception. After eight years of knowing her and basically seven of those years being together with her, he was always, always smitten by how she slept. He loved waking up before her so he could watch her sleep, watch her be at peace, at ease, resting. 

He knew what today was, what it represented in the timeline of their lives, of the impact it had on her. Five years since the violent attack that left her in a coma for three months followed by her miraculous reawakening and long painful recovery. He had mixed feelings about today. Part of him felt an immense guilt in his heart for not being there for her when she needed him most. He remembered that fight they had a few days before about the Gig Harbor Killer that sent her fleeing to her old condo for sanctuary and that was how he found her. His mind swirled with “what ifs?” What if they had not fought? She would never have run back to the condo and Winthrop never would have found her there. Would he have tried to attack her at a different place or time? Would he have forced his way into this house? The house that had seen enough violence to last a lifetime would have been subjected once again to pain and agony. 

It occurred to him that lamenting on the day of her attack was somewhat morbid and unusual. They should have spent more time celebrating the day she woke up, May fifteenth two thousand fifteen, and they did. They acknowledged it like a second birthday and yet this date of February had a stronger hold on them both and their friends as well. It was one of those “where were you when?” moments that rocketed through everyone’s subconscious.

Despite the mixed feelings, nothing awakened his soul stronger than watching over her as she slept. Getting all of his attention now, he turned over in bed to check on her. She was just inches from him, leaving a space between them where wrinkled, cool sheets and blankets lay. She was beautiful, as cliché as it sounded, everything she did, she did with such immense beauty. Even asleep, she made him smile and stare. Laying on her back, one arm draped across her stomach lazily, rising and falling as she breathes steady and slow, one hand resting gingerly at her side, the other arm shoved under the pillow at an angle, her head turned towards him, hair pooling onto the pillow in a tangled mess of waves. She had ceased curling it as often as she did when the first met, sighting laziness and sudden change in how her hair styled shortly before the coma, opting for a straighter, layered style. He missed those curls, but the loose waves and layered strands were still perfect for running his fingers through often. The covers were strewn all around her, some behind her on the other side of the bed, some had fallen down to her sides leaving her uncovered and probably cold. She was too wild of a sleeper to ever wake up in the same position she fell asleep in, nor with the same amount of covers she originally started out with either. 

He wanted to bring the covers back up to give her some warmth but when he pulled them up, stopping just at her side, he got distracted by her face. He ached to touch her, he craved it, but to soothe her, to let her know he was here, to give her all the love she deserved on this day and every day. He didn’t want to waste one second not spoiling her but with her still asleep, it was difficult to do. With one hand, he reached out to touch her cheek, letting his thumb graze over her skin, soft and warm. It likely wouldn’t wake her up right away. He could savor this moment, study her face, let his thumb graze over those tiny freckles, counting them, watching her face twitch just a little when she felt the sensation of his hand there. She started to bring her hand out from under the pillow to touch her face, to rub her eyes, bumping into his hand blindly. When she sighed softly as she started to wake up, he felt a swooping sensation in his stomach; adoration. 

Unable to resist, he kept grazing her cheek delicately as she woke up, squinting when she saw him, scrunching up her face in response to his touch. But she didn’t pull away, she lifted her other arm to hold his wrist with her hand, acknowledging him at last but still too tired to talk just yet. She became conscious of the space between them and she moved, slow, inching her way to him, scooting across the mattress, her body shifting from the warm spot she occupied for so long, onto the cool sheets left untouched for hours. She savored that feeling, shivering, the tank top she wore to sleep in was not a wise choice in February, even in Vegas but after their fun Valentines Day yesterday, she got lazy and threw on the first thing she could last night before bed. Even the pillow was cold but felt good on her neck and shoulders as she closed the space between them at last. As she moves, his hand slips from her cheek. 

“What are you doing up so early?” she murmurs, sleepy, groggy, to him, reaching under the covers he’s wrapped in to grab at his sides and tickle, playful. 

“Watching you,” he replies, squirming, grinning as he reaches out to grab her sides and tickle back, stronger. 

Her quiet giggles are like music, her frantic grabs for his hands, in vain, her squirming makes a further mess of the blankets. They savor this playful moment for a few minutes before she finally makes contact with his hand, grabbing on to it and prying it off her tender side. Her giggles start to fade but she remains close to him, smiling, bright. Her hair gets tangled up even more in the chaos and she’s wrapped up in more blankets than she first brought with her. 

“Why are you really up so early?” she questions him now. 

“Well I couldn’t sleep,” he confesses, reaching out to tousle her hair “I guess I was just thinking about today and what happened and how much I love you and want you to know that.”

She has pulled the covers up to her chin now, hands tucked inside them, swallowing the lump in her throat as the first memories of this day, five years ago start flooding back to her. 

“I do know that,” she assures him “I know that you love me and want to keep me safe and you have been so wonderful, you’re so good to me, if you weren’t there when I woke up, I don’t know how I would have gotten through all that.”

She starts to sob the last few words, struggling to get a handle on how this day makes her feel. On the one hand, she’s grateful to be alive, but on the other, she’s terrified, recalling all the pain Winthrop inflicted on her before she passed out, waking up months later in that hospital, scared, somehow having survived and since then thrived. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he assures her, hating himself for making her feel overwhelmed. He slides his arms around her, lifting her and all the blankets she’s wrapped in, into his embrace where she cuddles, immediately, needing that security to feel at ease. He can feel her tremble against him, her emotions running high. 

“It’s okay,” she mumbles to him “I don’t want people to tip toe around me, like I’m some fragile piece of glass ready to break at any second just because of him.” 

“No one thinks that,” he tries to assure her “you fought, you beat him, you won, you’re strong, that’s what we think when we see you, I promise.” 

She nods against his chest where her head has found the comfortable resting place, where she can hear and feel his heartbeat. Feeling vulnerable still, she reaches for his hand, shifting away from him and the warmth he’s radiating to lift his hand up. She guides his hand to her chest, laying it flat over her heart, letting him feel it beat. She closes her eyes, feeling the continuing pulsing in her chest and through his hand, vibrating against her skin. 

“I never really felt it before,” she admits to him in a whisper “it was just, always there, but now, I have to make sure I feel it to know I’m okay, and when I’m with you, it goes a million times faster and that’s how I know I’m alive.” 

She opens her eyes to pierce him with a watery, tear filled gaze as she utters “Don’t evet let me stop feeling it okay?” 

He nods, unsure of any words to convey to her in this moment, just a strong, unwavering support and a fierce, intense love.

Laying in silence, they stay like this, her hand holding his against her chest, her eyes closed, he feels her heartbeat keep a steady rhythm. If he could, he would let her stay like this all day with him, never leaving the warmth and safety of this bed. Unfortunately, they have to get up and moving soon because they have their annual appointment to see Dr. King at the hospital for the checkup she has required. He doesn’t want to be the one to disturb her peace in this moment, but the appointment is at ten am. She must be reading his mind because she speaks first, whispering a soft “Do we have to go?” 

He knows she means the hospital, she asks every year, begs, with her eyes and the absolute heartbreak in the tone of her voice. He knows she hates it, he hated going for checkups after being kidnapped and shot and pushed out that window. But it’s for her own good, her own peace of mind and to make sure everything is how it should be. 

“Yes,” he admits to her sadly, “but it will be quick, I’m sure.” 

She doesn’t believe him, appointments never go smoothly, not in her experience. They are always long and exhausting and she usually has to go through an MRI which terrifies her and makes her feel sick and woozy. As reluctant as she was to get out of bed and drag herself away from him and his soothing touch, she knows she has no choice. 

They get up and get ready. He makes her breakfast, something bland, hot tea and oatmeal and some fruit to keep her stomach at ease. She picks at the food in the bowl, moving it around with the spoon, lacking appetite but forcing some bites down. To pass the time before the appointment, she lays down on the couch, letting Sam crawl up and curl up at her feet. The dog lays across her body and she pets his head, soothing, slow, soft, a therapeutic comfort after all these years. She flops his ears around, taps his nose, runs her fingers over his soft fur while he lays content, head resting on her stomach, protective. He loves how they bonded, instantly, the moment he brought the sturdy dog home after the case, how she rolled around on the floor with him, played outside with him, doted on him for hours, even breaking the rule and letting him sleep in the bed, arm draped over him lazily. 

It pained him to have to separate them, but it was time to go to the hospital. Not even music on the car ride there could soothe her anxious soul. Dr. King always set aside the majority of her morning to meet with them like this once a year. So, it was no surprise to see the hallway outside her office empty and the nurse let them inside the office right away. They sat down in the two chairs in front of the desk which was filled with files and paperwork, but a smiling Dr. King sat behind it, greeting them happily. 

“Good to see you both,” she said, “Julie you look good, how do you feel?”

“Fine,” she admits truthfully, squirming just a little in the chair. 

“No headaches, no dizzy spells, you’ve been eating right?” Dr. King goes over the checklist like normal. 

“Just the two headaches last year,” Finn recites to her “one during the summer and one after that trial that took days, but I don’t feel dizzy and I haven’t had to come here when I get the headaches, the pain has gotten manageable and I eat just fine.”

“How’s your sleep?” Dr. King presses.

“It’s decent,” Finn recalls “not as many nightmares, some insomnia after a bad case, but I love sleeping in on the weekends, that helps.”

“Good,” Dr. King praises her wellness checkup so far “well it seems like both of you are thriving and doing well, I don’t see any reason to continue these checkups once a year unless something major comes up or if there are any setbacks.”

“What?” Finn asks, hardly daring to believe her luck after five years “no more appointments?”

“Not unless you need to see me,” Dr. King confirms this wonderful news. 

Finn looks at Nick in shock. Coming here once a year was not horrible, but it always put a damper in the day and her mood. Surviving such traumatic attack was one thing, the follow up lasted for years and was just as draining. But now, she would never have to set foot in here again unless it was for work or an emergency. 

“What do you think?” Dr. King asked them “is that reasonable?”

“Yes!” Finn gushes, excited, thrilled, over the moon “I mean, I like talking to you but if I’m better, I don’t need to come back.”

“That’s correct,” Dr. King says and Finn smiles. 

“How about that,” Nick says, happy for her in this moment. 

Its relief that sweeps over both of them. No more dreading this day. No more stomachache while waiting, no more anxiety over the tests. No more anything. 

“Thank you,” Finn sighs to her doctor “thank you for everything, you saved my life and now, I get to be here because of you and everything you did that night.”

“You fought for yourself too,” Dr. King reminds her “you came back swinging, nothing was going to stop you once you woke up.” 

Finn can not help but blush just a little at how she praises her. There really was no explanation for the length of her coma nor the sudden way she came back to them. She just got lucky. 

Dr. King made copies of her file and all the medical forms so Finn could take them home and keep them safe if she ever needed them. She examined the scars on her head to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary there and with one final praise of her recovery, sent them on their way. 

As Finn and Nick walked through the hallways, feeling a rush of excitement at getting to leave so soon, they reached the lobby and he stopped her. 

“What?” she whined, anxious to get back to the car and back home. 

“I want to do one more thing,” he says, gently guiding her over to the gift shop across the lobby. She has a hunch what it might be but waits for him to take her inside the shop and over to the wall of stuffed animals. 

“Pick one out, whichever one you want,” he encourages, and she lights up, scanning the seemingly endless rows of soft, plushy toys in search for one that will fit with her collection. He has bought one for her on every anniversary since the day she woke up and every doctors trip they had here. She had at least a dozen cute little animals arranged around the house and their room, showcasing her happy spirit and overall general sweetness and adoration for these types of gifts. It was a reminder of what she survived. 

After several agonizing minutes of trying to narrow down a toy, she settled on a plush dog, one with golden fur, similar to the first one he ever bought for her when he first came to visit after she woke up back in two thousand fifteen. She cradled it as they waited in line to pay and tucked it gently into the gift bag they provided, walking out, clutching it tight in one hand while holding on to his with her other hand. 

Getting her home and back into bed is their usual routine on this day. She was always exhausted from the tests which led to them staying in bed the rest of the day but since there were no tests this time, she was not feeling the usual weight of tiredness on her. Instead, they looked at it as an opportunity to spend the day being lazy and rest and extend their holiday weekend. 

She settled right into bed, laying the plush dog on her chest, playing with its ears and paws lovingly while Sam watched her with interest. 

“He thinks you’re cheating on him,” Nick teased her of Sam’s gaze at the toy. 

“Oh buddy, it’s okay,” Finn soothed Sam with a gentle pet on his head “mommy loves you too.” 

Sam tilted his head from side to side, seeming to accept the toy before circling and laying in his dog bed. 

“Did you give him a name yet?” Nick asked of the toy now. 

“Not yet,” Finn said sadly, flopping its ears around “but thank you for buying him for me, and all the others.”

She turned sideways as Nick got under the covers with her and kissed him, hugging the plush dog to her chest, tighter, crushing it but in a loving way, clinging to it as if her life depended on it. 

She was not feeling tired, nor was she energetic. She was unsure how she felt right now in this moment. All that she desired was to keep a tight hold on this toy while also being close to Nick. His hand came up to her head, smoothing her hair back gently, running his fingers through her waves until his thumb grazed over the scar on her forehead. It was never truly known if that scar came from the blows to her head or the subsequent surgery to relieve the pressure in her skull. Not that it mattered anyways. As long as it wasn’t hurting her, he was not concerned about it. Running his thumb along the jagged stretch of skin seemed to soothe her and she closed her eyes, continuing to smile at the contact and affection he was giving her. 

It was as if they could read each other’s minds a moment later because she started to scoot her way closer to him as he slipped his arms around her body and slid her closer to him. They bumped foreheads on purpose but not hard, gentle, playful. His fingers found her side and latched on there, pressing into the tender muscle, grazing slowly over the same ticklish spot. She wiggles under the covers, adjusting to the light tickling, feeling her stomach flutter and tingle, never wanting it to stop, quiet, throaty giggles escaping her. This is the memory he wants for her today. This is the feeling he wants her to have, to take over from the pain and agony that was in her heart for so long during that recovery. He never wants her giggling to cease. 

He shifts his hand that had been caressing her forehead, moving instead to her face, letting a single finger trace over her cheeks, counting freckles, trailing under her chin, her jawline, remembering where the bruises were, the ones she thankfully didn’t see until just recently in Russell’s case file from that night. She squirms again, comfortable, letting him spoil her with this affection, crinkling her nose as his finger traces over her face, squinting her eyes shut, scrunching the rest of her face, the sensations soothing, better than anything she felt with anyone else and certainly better, softer, kinder than any punch thrown by that monster. It was a comment on the variety of life that took her from violence to calm in such a short time. It was a testament to both of them having survived terrible attacks to somehow find each other through the chaos. 

The more she thought about her pain and his, the more she began to realize how similar they truly were. Nick spent hours trapped in that box, surrounded by darkness, conscious for almost all of that agony, losing the will to live. She on the other hand spend months in darkness unknown, thrown back into the light suddenly and with barely any recollection of her pain. She ached to switch places with him, to give him the luxury of feeling nothing but the after affects of a coma. To them, darkness meant something different, but light, as it filtered through the curtains every day, was always the same, refreshing, alluring, lifesaving.


End file.
